


Getting the Goatman

by Mrstserc



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-24
Updated: 2013-03-24
Packaged: 2017-12-03 12:55:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 19,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/698469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mrstserc/pseuds/Mrstserc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean are in Waco, Texas, helping another hunter take on a Goatman who is preying on children. The brothers struggle to work together after their year apart when Dean was in Purgatory. Set early in Season 8. Hunting story with a whopping side of brotherly relationship. Hurt!Dean. I am only borrowing and have no rights. Rated T for violence and language.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Eleven years ago, she was a gawky seventeen year old with braces and bad skin, a skinny, awkward, undirected mess of a kid who stayed lost in books and television shows. Eleven years ago, she was a scared kid who saw something impossible, learned something unbearable, and met someone fantastic who turned her whole world upside down.

Now here she was in 2013 staring across a crowded Homestyle Café in Waco, Texas, on a Saturday morning over a fruit topped waffle at the man who had – unknowingly – changed her life. At least she was pretty sure it was him. Similar haircut even after all these years, eyes so green she could tell from her seat halfway across the room, quick smiles for the waitress but a face that looked like he’d seen some tough times. Maybe even more handsome than she remembered, which was surprising because she thought he was one gorgeous guy? He was sitting at the table with another man so big that it made him look little; big guy had longish hair and chiseled features. She’s pretty sure it’s him; pretty sure this was the first hunter she had ever met and a legend in the hunting world.

Well, she thinks, when I put out a call for help on the hunter hotline, I guess I ought to consider myself lucky that someone who has been doing this so long shows up to help. May as well go reintroduce myself.

She hangs her computer bag on her shoulder, scoops up her plate, silverware and ticket in one hand and her coffee mug in the other and carefully makes her way across the room setting it all down on their table without spilling anything. “Name’s Ronnie Carpenter. I think you gentlemen are the hunters I called in for help.” She settles her computer case on the chair behind her and offers her hand. “You’re Dean Winchester if I’m remembering correctly. You’ll have to introduce me to this tall drink of water with you.”

Dean takes in the woman in front of him. Tallish, probably five foot nine or ten in low-heeled boots. Brownish hair with copper highlights tightly controlled in a braid, dark brown eyes, and skin lightly tanned from outdoor work even though it’s only February. Not bad looking, but not overly memorable, too lean for his usual tastes. He racks his brain trying to remember when he’d been to Waco before, came up with a long time ago with Dad. This woman is probably mid-to-late twenties, which would make her… “Veronica Carpenter?” Dean asks.

When he gets a nod, he goes on. “Meet my little brother, Sam. I think I remember telling you about him. He was away at college at the time.” He gives her another once-over glance. “So, you’ve changed.”

Ronnie turns to shake hands with Sam, meeting the assessing look in his intelligent hazel eyes. “Pleased to meet you, Ronnie.” He glances back to his brother. “You didn’t say you knew the hunter who was looking for back up.”

With the introductions out of the way, Ronnie draws her computer out of the bag and sits down, motioning for a coffee refill and cutting off a slice of her waffle. “You guys order yet? Because these waffles – they’re worth it. Different fruit toppings too. We can talk some here, but not too much. After we eat, I’d rather you follow me back to my office to get filled in. Maybe make a plan.”

Dean and Sam place their orders, but Dean wants to figure out how the kid he met turned into a hunter. Being Dean, he flat out asks without beating around the topic first. Breakfast passes pretty quickly. Ronnie learns John Winchester is dead, but she’s too unsure to ask them about a bunch of crazy rumors she’s heard about them. Through skillful questioning, Sam gets her talking about herself, filling him in on how she first met his older brother.

“Your dad and Dean showed up out of the blue when I was in high school. We, me and my dad, had just moved to Waco. Bought an old place right outside of town. Dad thought it was a good deal, but the place was haunted.” She sips at her coffee, thinking back to everything those few words brought to mind. Haunted? She would never have believed that was real before it was her life being invaded. It sure is different when it’s happening to you instead of on a television screen.

“Your dad and your brother, they were just…” Ronnie trails off trying to find the words. “Heroes. Larger than life. Helping me make sense of it. Letting me know I wasn’t crazy.” She turns to face Dean. “You changed my life you know. I couldn’t go back to acting like the supernatural was make believe. I had to do something. So I finished up my senior year. Joined the military to get some training. Served four years and starting taking classes in investigations. Read everything I could get my hand on about ghosts and cryptozoology. When I got out of the service, I went to school and became a private investigator. That’s my day job, but I follow up on the stuff no one else believes in – to help other people, like you helped me.”

Dean ducks his head as though avoiding praise, but Sam notices and pushes for more details. “I like to hear the stories about my big brother, the hero,” Sam urges her to continue. “He doesn’t get to hear it enough to make it stick.” There’s an edge to his voice that Ronnie can’t place, but she falls silent, even as Dean shoots his brother a fierce look. “Give it a rest, Sam.”

The two men finish their waffles and coffee and all three hunters head for the exit, Ronnie insisting on picking up the tab. She gives them the address and directions to her office, telling them she’ll meet them there as she stops to pay the cashier.

Carpenter Investigations is a big room attached to a clapboard three bedroom home a few blocks from the old downtown area of Waco, the side heading away from the big Baptist university that helps keep part of the downtown area from the squalor of poverty. Waco is an old city, built on the site of an older culture. Two rivers running through the town helped keep it alive in the water-obsessed central part of the state.

The office area might have once been a two-car garage, but it has a desk, conference table, half bath and kitchenette. Ronnie invites the guys to join her at the conference table and hooks her laptop into a large flat-screen monitor. She starts running through her documents on the case she has asked for help with. Three children are already missing, snatched from parks near Lake Waco and presumed dead, in the past month. Police are looking for a pedophile, but Ronnie thinks it’s a different type of predator.

“What makes you think this isn’t just another frikkin pervert?” Dean knows that some people see supernatural explanations because thinking people are capable of the crap they are is disheartening. “Because so far, sounds like the cops are on the right trail. So what kind of monster do you think is doing this?”

Dean’s being a little short-tempered, but not overtly rude, Sam thinks. His older brother came back from Purgatory with sharper edges; he cuts unintentionally sometimes. Sam steps in to smooth the waters a little, falling easily into his role as buffer. “Do you have an idea of what’s doing this – anything that’ll help us flush out and get rid of it?”

Ronnie flushes. “Okay, guys, I realize I’ve only been doing this four years – and you two – well, you’re legendary. But I wouldn’t have called for help if I wasn’t sure it was a supernatural problem. As for being positive what it is…the answer is no. But I have an idea, based on the research I’ve done about Lake Waco.”

Ronnie starts a slideshow she has put together of similar problems in the Lake Waco area. News reports date back to the mid-1800’s with reoccurrences every 30-35 years. She tells them local legends call it a Goatman, but they disagree on what exactly a Goatman is.

In one version, the Goatman is a demon, bi-pedal cloven-hoofed and horned like his father the devil. In another that the creature is the result of scientific experimentation in a North Texas laboratory, some kind of large six-to-eight foot tall human-animal hybrid meant to be a weapon that became too much trouble for his handlers, who accidently released him into the near West, a town just north of the city. A third explanation is that a Goatman is fairy in nature, a satyr. An earlier legend says he was the result of a goat-rancher who got too lonely and couldn’t bring himself to kill his ill-begotten half-human offspring.

“Now – that’s just disgusting.” Dean makes a face and Sam rolls his eyes. It’s not the worst thing they’ve ever heard. “What do your legends say about how to get rid of it or drive it off?” Sam directs the discussion back to more useful ground. “Anything about its habitat or hunting pattern?”

“Those’re topics for debate, too.” Ronnie watches the brothers’ interactions closely. Rumor has them being best of friends as well as siblings, but there’s definitely something amiss between these two men. She continues to fill them in on the information she has gathered.

Most Goatmen live in rural areas on the outskirts of cities and towns, often in caves, always near waterways. While they do regularly kill humans, it is unclear whether they eat their victims. They often mutilate pets and livestock, but rarely eat them. They’ve been known to use animal heads as projectiles against people. Their most potent powers are their ability to cause irrational fear in humans and leap great distances.

“So, I set out livestock cameras, but something keeps knocking them down over near the park in North Lake Waco. I haven’t had any luck otherwise. I was hoping we could stake out the area, now that I’ve got backup, and be ready to take care of it whether it’s demonic or fairy or mortal. But I’m open to suggestions.” Ronnie watches as the two hunters exchange a long look she’s pretty sure contains an entire conversation. The quiet types, huh? She wonders if they are thinking about cutting her out of her own hunt and gets her confirmation quickly.

“Why don’t you just let us take it from here?” Dean says, trying to soften the impact with a half-hearted flirtatious smirk.

Ronnie stares at them both not bothering to hide her annoyance; God knows she put up with plenty of macho shit in the military. “What kind of crap is that? You two too good to hunt with me? Or do you just want the womenfolk to stay in the kitchen? You know what, I’ll get someone else. I wanted backup, not to be replaced on my own hunt.”

The angry hunter starts to close up her programs with abrupt movements. “Now, wait a minute…” Dean grates out before being interrupted by his brother.

“Ronnie, we’d like to stay and work with you. If that’s all right?”


	2. Chapter 2

The two extra bedrooms in Ronnie’s house/office come in handy as she invites the Winchesters to stay with her while they help her hunt what she thinks is a Goatman. Plus, her place has a U-shaped drive out back that’s perfect for getting the guys’ classic muscle car off the street because her office isn’t in the best part of town.

“Sweet ride,” Ronnie remarks. “I vaguely remember a big black car when you were here with your dad in 2002. Same one?”

Dean gives the car a fond smile and drags out a chamois from the trunk to wipe some of the dust from the chrome. “Yeah, me and my baby, we’ve been together a long time. She’s family.” Sam snorts, mutters something about a gas hog and drinking oil. He flips his laptop open on the patio table on the small deck out back, setting it up like he’s building a defensive zone around himself.

“Must be hard to stay inconspicuous driving her, though.” Ronnie saw Dean’s shoulders stiffen at his brother’s remarks about the car, but Dean acts like he didn’t hear them. Dean gives her a quick glance before turning his attention back to the Impala. “Nah, we don’t stay put long enough for it to become a problem.”

Ronnie’s a little puzzled by the way the two brothers are steadily ignoring each other; Dean fussing over the car and Sam buried in his computer now that he’s set up on her wireless. She’s seeing some changes in Dean that she would never have expected after meeting him before. He had seemed so much more extroverted and sure of himself then. Now he even looks a little smaller, and his eyes, beautiful eyes she notices, hold pain and disillusionment.

As a military vet, Ronnie has seen plenty of guys get eyes like that too young. The local VA hospital is full of them. She studies the younger brother awhile. He is a gorgeous giant, but his hazel eyes seem to barely hide anger; she shudders at the thought of this big guy flying off the handle. Four years as an MP- two of them in a combat zone - and while she knows she can handle most things that might pop up, she’d rather not have to take Sam Winchester on. Maybe some small talk will diffuse the tension.

“So, Sam, your brother said you were away at college when he was here before. Where’d you go?” Ronnie figured that should be a safe enough topic. She didn’t expect to see his jaw clench before he replies through a stiff jaw. “Stanford, pre-law, but I didn’t finish.”

Well, shit, Ronnie thinks, stepped on a landmine there. Maybe I should just give up. Sam looks at her and realizes he just bit her head off for asking an innocuous -- a normal -- question. He sighs and shoots her an apologetic look. It’s not her fault that he and Dean haven’t been getting along very well since he met Dean’s new best buddy, Benny the vampire.

Sam pushes back from the computer a little and concentrates on the Texas hunter for a moment. He can tell she was just trying to make polite conversation, but he really doesn’t feel like talking about whatever this is going on with him and his brother. It doesn’t look like Dean plans to be sociable; he’s taking advantage of the privacy of the back drive to sort through the weapons locker, setting some likely weapons into a duffel. Sam decides to steer the conversation back to the hunt.

“What time of day have the attacks occurred? Is there a pattern for day of the week or time?” It’s a bit abrupt and as good as a shout for letting this hunter know they aren’t there to make small talk.

“There doesn’t seem to be a pattern on day of the week, or time between attacks,” Ronnie says. “But all the attacks have taken place between afterschool and dinner time when kids are playing near the lake by themselves. I figure it’ll take thirty minutes to get there, so we’ve got about four hours to come up with a strategy.”

Dean re-engages. “Got a good silver knife? I’d say silver bullets but given the time of day and public access, shooting might be a bad idea.” He’s asking even as she sees him taking out various sharp implements and a whet-stone. “Machete might be good too. Not much that can’t be stopped by beheading. Other than that, we’ll be prepared in case it’s demonic, holy water and salt. If it’s fairy silver or iron will work. But we’ll load the rock salt and iron rounds in the shotgun in case it’s something else.” Talking about how to kill things seems to have gotten him out of whatever mood he was in, and Ronnie and Dean start to put together an ambush.

**. . . . . . .**

The three hunters take Ronnie’s four-wheel drive crew cab pick-up truck out to Airport Park, and then they hike, following the lake’s uneven shoreline toward the marshy area under the river crossing bridge where the Bosque River has scarred the ground by flooding its banks leaving high water marks in gray on the scrubby trees on either side. She shows them the areas that she hasn’t been able to keep wildlife cameras set up, and the three take concealed positions relying on the walkie-talkies she hands them to stay in touch. Their plan is to stay until full-dark, then hike back and meet at her truck if nothing happens before then. All three are armed, but Ronnie has a digital camera too, to try to capture it in a photograph if nothing else.

Stake-outs are boring, and Sam has never liked them, under his breath he curses the wasted time they could spend doing something more important. Dean’s been the one dragging them from ghost job to monster job filling their time in hunts while they wait for Kevin to decipher the demon tablet. Sam would rather spend their time researching for something that will help them close the gates of hell. Dean seems like he’s an energizer bunny killing machine since his return from Purgatory, or like he plans to keep them too busy to be able to talk and work things out.

When Sam starts getting tired of hiding and watching, he takes out his phone to check his messages. After a while he feels the poke, and Sam drops his phone and jumps, spinning around with his machete poised only to have Dean knock his arm away. “What the fuck, Dean? I could have killed you!” Sam hisses at his older brother.

Dean gives a derisive snort. “And if I was the monster you would’a been dead, Sam.” Dean grits out through his teeth. “What the fuck’s wrong with you, man? We’re here to do a job. Save lives. Kids’ lives. What the hell are you doing playing on your fucking phone like an amateur?” The brothers glare at each other, and the fact that Sam knows he was wrong only makes him angrier. He’s damned tired of Dean doing the big brother thing, like Sam’s in a never-ending apprenticeship for a job he never wanted in their family business.

“You know what? Fuck you, Dean. Go back to wherever you’re hiding and let me handle this my way.” Sam and Dean lock eyes in non-verbal combat, but Sam sees his brother’s concentration slip, and emotions flash through that intense green gaze – anger, hurt, despair, fear, loneliness. Then it’s like Dean realizes his thoughts are showing and shuts his feelings away. With a final glare, Dean leaves, fading away so quickly and quietly that his brother is impressed in spite of himself.

When Sam hears the brush behind him rustling slightly ten minutes later, he figures it’s Dean again. Instead of going for his machete, he decides he’ll use some hand-to-hand and slam Dean to the ground hard to teach him a lesson. He may be younger, but Sam has been bigger than Dean for years; and Dean lost weight in Purgatory, looking slighter and wirier these days.

The first thing Sam notices is that the thing he just grabbed is big, way bigger than him. The second is that it feels greasy and hairy. Definitely not his brother. Its eyes are golden brown, but slit like a cat’s. It’s humanoid, but has horns like the old pictures depicting the devil. He doesn’t have time to think about more as he is suddenly hurtling through the air.

Dean may wear an invisible “throw me” sign on his back, but Sam is too big for most things to pick up, never mind toss like a baseball. He’s disoriented during the flight until he hits something hard, knocking the air from his lungs with a woof. He only realizes he’s been tossed right into his brother when he tries to stand up.

“You’re killing him!” Ronnie yells, and Sam looks down to see his brother’s crumpled form, head bleeding from the rock he hit, leg twisted at an awkward angle, and Sam’s machete stuck in his shoulder. Dean is trying to get up, groaning and holding his head. “Don’t just fucking stand there – go get the sonofabitch!”


	3. Chapter 3

Mary Grace Simmons is a retired Army emergency room nurse who made friends with Ronnie Carpenter through a local women’s veteran’s program. Brash, loud, but loyal, Ronnie asked her to come over to help with Dean’s injuries once he made it clear he wasn’t going to a hospital emergency room. The stout older woman is about as wide as she is tall with a helmet of aggressively golden curls.

Sam and Ronnie alternately sit and stand while they listen to Mary Grace’s side of the conversation coming from the bedroom. Dean’s mostly low grumbles for reply and they have to let their brains fill in the missing pieces. Even as worried as Sam is, he can’t help but share a smile at what he’s hearing.

“Damnit, don’t jump around like a whang doodle. Let me get a look at’cha. Looks like you zigged when you should’a zagged. Strip down, cowboy.” Sam can’t hear what his brother says, and he isn’t sure if he understands half of what Mary Grace is saying.

 “No, the under drawers too; you ain’t got nothing I ain’t seen before and let me tell you this old dog don’t hunt no more when it comes to pretty boys like you. Fine, leave them on then! How’s about you stop having a walleyed fit and let me get a good look at where you took a pounding. I’ll just move ‘em around to check these bruises, and…I’m sorry sugar. Hurt, hmmm?  You’re fixin’ ta piss blood from this kidney, I think. Some deep bruising here on your backbone, too.  You might not be real comfortable setting on your sit upon either. Well now, let’s get your shoulder stitched up, and ice the knee, the back, and the bump on your noggin. ”

The voices from the bedroom grow quiet and Sam figures Mary Grace was projecting before to keep Ronnie and him updated during the exam. Dean had shut the door between them, and Sam mentally snorted at how appropriate that gesture was. He runs his palm over his face and pushes back his hair, thinking about the Goatman so he doesn’t have to think about Dean for a minute. Dean, who Sam managed to get thrown into because he couldn’t keep his mind in the hunt.

 The Goatman was fast, strong, and gone again without a scratch on him. Beheading sounds good, but it won’t be easy unless they can take it down first. It’s hard to behead something that’s a foot taller than you. And how is Sam going to finish this hunt without his brother? Seriously, how is he going to make Dean sit the rest of this out for his injury? Sam doesn’t want Dean facing this thing while he’s slower than usual.

Ronnie helps distract Sam by dragging her laptop over and showing Sam the frames she downloaded from her camera. Sam congratulates her on getting any, even though these are blurred by how fast the monster had been moving. He has her email the photos to him. This is the first photographic evidence of this type of monster, and Sam types up some notes on Goatmen in his online journal.

“Took fourteen stitches to close up his shoulder. It’s bandaged and I’m trying to get your fool-headed brother to wear a sling,” Mary Grace announces to Sam. “I’m more worried about the bruising to his kidneys and back though, ‘cause the shoulder will heal. Just watch it for infection. And he ought ta stay put, but I ain’t wasting my breath trying to talk sense to him. He don’t have the sense God gave a screw driver about taking care of himself.”

“I can hear you, you know,” Dean yells out from the bedroom, before following his words out slowly, moving at a shuffle and trying to keep his body still. He’s barefoot but mostly dressed.

“Well if you’ve got sense enough to pour rainwater out of a boot, you’ll listen to me.” Mary Grace faces off against a Dean who is buttoning his flannel shirt on over a bare chest, presumably because he can’t lift his bandaged shoulder enough to pull a t-shirt over his head. “And, bless your heart, I don’t think you’ve got stupid branded on you. Don’t lift anything heavier than a biscuit for three or four days while you heal. And get the hell off that knee before you make it worse - Bed rest might not hurt, and eat something. Build your strength and give your body time to heal.  I swear I can count your ribs. If you get any thinner you’ll have to run around in the shower to get wet.” Her medical advice is rapid, and for his brother’s benefit.

The furrows in Dean’s forehead deepen. “Thanks for your help, but that thing is hurting kids, so I need to get back out there.” He glances over at Sam who is worriedly looking him over. “I’m not sure she’s actually speaking English,” Dean says in a stage whisper, forcing a strained grin from Sam.

Mary Grace lets out a booming laugh. “Gotta live wire here. A freaking hero. Come on you short-eared mule. Let’s at least strap on your feed bag. I brought over a pot of my chili, and the good lord knows I’m so hungry my stomach thinks my throat’s been cut.” Turning to march off into the kitchen, she throws back over her shoulder, “Goliath, do you need me to look you over?” When Sam tells her he’s fine, that’s true. His fall was broken by his brother, making Sam wonder if the monster threw him as a weapon, or if Dean jumped between him and injury on purpose. He is jarred from his concern quickly. “Fetch your bubba a pillow. He’s gonna be as sore as a tenderfoot after his first trail ride.”

**. . . . . . .**

After dinner Mary Grace calls an old friend who’s still a practicing doctor and arranges prescriptions for pain killers and antibiotics. But then she packs up her chili pot and leaves the three hunters alone. “Now, don’t you be ornery or try to do too much out of pure cussidness. Let people help you, sugar.” With those parting orders, she leaves, followed by Ronnie who is going to pick up the medicines.

A heavy silence falls as Dean collapses on the couch, trying to find a comfortable position. Sam watches him under his lashes, wanting to find a way to apologize, and knowing he needs to find a way to at least stall the hunt long enough for his brother to heal up. 

Sam tries to hit a light note. “I think that’s Texan, not English. I’m not sure I understood half of it.” Dean grunts in reply. “Can I get you anything, Dean?” Sam doesn’t actually expect his brother to accept his offer, and he’s still trying to find the right words to say “Sorry I wasn’t paying more attention and let the monster throw me.” Or “Gee, I hope the monster threw me at you and you didn’t jump in to save me, again.” He grinds his teeth in frustration.

“You could not fuss over me.” Dean snaps his reply, but then apologizes. “Shit, Sam, sorry. She was just a little much. And yes, if you don’t mind, I’d take a drink and the remote.” Dean gives him a penitent look. Sam hands him the remote without saying anything, then heads to the kitchen. He returns with a big glass of ice water which he hands to Dean with a challenging look. He knows Dean meant alcohol, but he shouldn’t have that until his kidney is no longer bruised. Plus Sam means to make Dean take a pain killer and mixing opiates with alcohol is a dumb idea.

Dean has found a basketball game on the television and takes the water with a short “thanks” that manages to contain a lot more in that one word. He looks like he’s planning to get up and get what he wants himself before reading the resolve in Sam’s stance and sinking back into the couch.

“This wasn’t your fault, Sam, so stop giving me the puppy dog eyes. I’m just glad he didn’t throw you into something harder.”

With that comment, Sam remembers how Mary Grace was talking about Dean getting too thin, and he studies his brother. He realizes Dean is much slimmer than he was in the past, and wonders again how difficult purgatory must have been.  Then his frustration boils over without warning.

“Did you jump in to break my fall, Dean? ‘Cause you know seeing you hurt isn’t any easier for me than getting hurt myself. As a matter of fact, your martyr routine is getting a little old.”

Dean’s eyes narrow and his face gets a pinched look. “Sorry to have inconvenienced you, Sam” It’s an enigmatic response that does nothing to answer Sam’s questions, shutting him out, again. A brooding silence creeps over the room. Dean studiously keeps his eyes on the game while Sam watches his brother like he’s a cypher to be decoded. Ronnie returns a few minutes later, handing the pill bottles into Sam’s waiting hands.

The brunette takes in the atmosphere and decides she’s better off letting them handle their own baggage. “I’ll be in the office working, if you two need anything,” Ronnie offers, making her escape.

Sam reads the labels before shaking out the pills. He hands them to Dean, watching him closely until he sees his brother swallow them. For a minute Dean wonders if Sam is going to demand he open his mouth to prove he actually took them. He wonders what he did to make his brother distrust him so much, and sighs loudly.

“I’m gonna take a shower.” Sam spins to get out of the room where the silences between Dean and him have taken on a life of their own.

When Sam comes back out, he can tell his brother is almost out of it, barely keeping his eyes open as he fights off drug induced sleepiness. He helps Dean get up from the couch and keeps his arm around him to stop him from falling as his brother limps his way to the bathroom, then to the bed. “You planning to tuck me in, Sam?” Dean asks sounding more sad than sarcastic.

Sam does draw the blankets over his limp brother and brushes his hand across Dean’s forehead as though checking for fever, savoring being this close without feeling his brother tense up from his touch. Sam sits on the side of the bed watching his brother fall asleep. He doesn’t know how to fix things between them, and having him here and still estranged feels as bad as losing him did. 


	4. Chapter 4

The aromas of fresh coffee, baking biscuits, and sizzling bacon waft together and wake Sam from a sound sleep just before sunrise on a dreary winter day. The younger Winchester had gone over the home’s defenses with Ronnie the evening before after Dean fell into a drugged slumber early in the evening, teaching her warding symbols against angels and demons. He figures it is the least he can do since she has insisted on them staying for as long as the hunt takes. Besides, he knows he sleeps better in a warded place.

Sam stretches as he gets up fingertips brushing against the light fixture. If I ever get a home of my own again, I want high doors and ceilings. I want to feel like I’m not living in a hobbit hole, he thinks.  He twists to pop his back, which is a little sore from being thrown into his brother, but not bad enough to worry about. Thinking of worrying, Sam peeks into Dean’s bedroom but his brother is already up, his bed made with almost military precision. Definitely a sign he doesn’t intend to take it easy, Sam notes.

When Sam enters the kitchen, Dean and Ronnie are at the table with a legal pad in front of them with a rough map drawn of the area near Lake Waco where they met the Goatman. “Morning, Sam, how’d you sleep?” Dean greets him cheerfully, while Ronnie points out the coffee mugs and offers to fix his plate. Sam waves her off, filling a plate and bringing it to the table. In his head, Sam is chewing over how best to stall for time because it looks like Dean is going to try to act like he’s 100 percent.

Sam adds sugar and creamer to his hot coffee, slurping some and eating his breakfast quickly before even trying to make words from his thoughts. He knows Dean is in a stubborn mood, he can feel it, like a dare. Sam also knows his brother well enough to notice the little clues.

Dean’s wearing a button up shirt again, no undershirt, which means he still can’t move his shoulder well. He hasn’t showered, probably in part from the bandages, but Sam thinks it’s more likely that the movement would be too much for him. He has dark circles under his eyes and his face is pale enough for the freckles to stand out. That means he’s in pain. He’s sitting very straight in his chair, but kind of perched with only one cheek on it, not allowing his bruises to contact the chair. He’s tempted to watch to see how well he’s walking on the knee, but – no – he doesn’t actually need any more proof that his brother is trying to hide his injuries.

Sam has no intention of allowing Dean to be recklessly stupid right now.  Still wordlessly, he catches his brother’s eyes to relay that he’s not falling for the “everything’s fine” routine from Dean. “What, Sam? Someone piss in your coffee?” Dean’s question is blunt and rude; it stirs embers of anger Sam has been hiding.

“Stow your bullshit, Dean. You are not okay enough to go out there hunting today. You shouldn’t even be out of bed, even if Ronnie was kind enough to fix us breakfast.” Sam’s voice has an edge to it.

“Dean cooked,” Ronnie offers, and Dean smirks at Sam.

“Some of us don’t need as much beauty rest,” Dean tells Sam. The older Winchester eyes his brother, wondering why he’s is such a snit already this morning and how he saw through Dean’s cover so quickly. “Okay, Princess,” Dean says sarcastically, “Was there a pea under your mattress? I don’t get where the attitude is coming from.”

Ronnie is hiding behind her coffee mug, watching the two men carefully. She had been surprised to find Dean already awake and starting breakfast. But she hadn’t wanted to be pushy about him taking it more slowly, although she remembers very clearly that Mary Grace said he needed to take it easy for a few days. She considers speaking up, but decides to let the brothers hash this out themselves.

Sam inhales audibly. He glances over at Ronnie, and purposefully moderates what he was going to say. “Dean, will you get me some more coffee?” His look at his brother is a dare. He’s calling his big brother’s bluff.

“Get it yourself, Sam.”

Sam narrows his eyes. “Okay.” He gets up and walks to the counter taking the carafe from the machine. He refills his cup, tops off Ronnie’s and walks behind Dean, leaning in over his brother to refill Dean’s coffee mug too. He rests his leg and side against Dean’s bruised back, bumping his knee and shoulder slightly, not hard, just enough that Dean can feel it. Dean stifles a groan from the pain, but he can’t hide the fact that he has blanched white and broken into a sweat.

“Bitch,” Dean blurts, knowing his brother has all the ammo he needs now in an argument about whether the older Winchester is fit to hunt today.

“I’ll get you a painkiller, jerk, along with your antibiotic. And after I clean up from breakfast, we’ll get you washed up and change your bandages.” Sam’s face is smug as he resumes his seat at the table. “And thanks for making breakfast, but you - really - shouldn’t have.”

Then Sam sits back and watches as his brother brings up arguments and dismisses them in his head wordlessly. Sam knows he has won this argument only for as long as Dean cannot find a reasonable excuse for doing dangerous work when he’s not actually recovered enough to be out of bed. After a little while, Sam tries to redirect Dean’s thoughts.

“So, tell me what you were working out. Maybe there’re some things Ronnie and I can do to prepare while you’re resting today.” It’s a peace offering from Sam; he’s allowing his brother to direct his activities toward this hunt and hinting he’s willing to do it the next day, as long as Dean capitulates and takes the day off from physical activity.

Sam learns that Dean has decided that the Goatman will have to be approached like hunting a grizzly bear. They need to locate its tracks, follow them to its lair, and shoot it before it can get close to them. He understands his brother’s reasoning. The thing is massive, strong, deadly, and faster than almost anything they’ve ever faced. Dean has a list of materials he wants, including forward looking infrared (flir) scopes for their rifles, and a hunting stand.

“Besides picking up the hunting stand, and I’m thinking the free standing, box kind on a platform, we’re going to need to get it in place without alerting the authorities,” Dean says. “I could use for you two to make a reconnaissance of where and how far we can drive in.” He stops brooding a little. “Sam, I need to be there. I have to find its tracks or none of this will matter.”

Sam’s famous for the pleading expression his brother calls puppy dog eyes, but Dean’s face is almost as earnestly intent on convincing his brother, and it’s hard for Sam to turn him down. He doesn’t want to give in, but he waffles some. “You get your shower, get clean bandages, take your pills, and go back to bed while we gather the materials. Then – if you’re doing better – you can ride along and do the tracking. But you’re not lifting anything. Agreed?”

Dean smiles, and Sam knows that he really has gained only half a day. The rest of the battle will take place when they are back out by the lake.

**. . . . . . .**

Right about time for schools to let out for the day, Sam, Dean, and Ronnie arrive under the long bridge where the Bosque River flows into Lake Waco. They needed to use Ronnie’s truck for its four-wheel drive capability and because they have a hunting box and platform stand in the back of the truck. Dean is riding in the back seat attaching a flir scope to a .338 Winchester magnum rifle that had once belonged to Bobby Singer. It’s the best big game rifle they have.

Dean has never used it before to hunt because they try to stay out of grizzly territory. Bobby and Dean have fired it though, just like they did every weapon either one of them owned. He pats the stock in fond remembrance.

Sam turns around from the shotgun seat to glare at his brother. “We are tracking, Dean, not hunting right now. Plus, our primary concern today is where to place the hunting stand that Ronnie and I are going to carry because you aren’t. Got it?”

“I hear ya, Sam.” Dean is gritting his teeth even trying to move to get out of the truck. His whole body has been clenched against the pain while the truck bounced over rutted trails and dodges trees and bush. The pain pill from this morning effectively knocked him out for a few hours, but it has worn off and four-wheeling wasn’t much fun when you are all bruised.

The overcast morning had led to a dreary wet day, making the outing miserable. Dean’s hoping he’ll be able to pick up a trail pretty quickly. If he can actually find the lair, he’ll be able to check to see if there are any survivors from the three missing children. In the meantime, if he can find a spot overlooking an active trail, they can place the hunting stand, hopefully keeping them out of easy reach of the Goatman.

“If you hear me so well, why are you bringing the gun?” Sam asks as he hands his brother the flir binoculars he picked up at pawn shop in town.

Dean lifts his eyebrows. “You don’t go into grizzly territory unarmed; and if this thing comes after us again, I want to be prepared.” Sam shrugs. He doesn’t have to like it even if it does make sense. All three of them slip rain ponchos on. Dean conceals the rifle as best as he can under his.

After hiking to the area they had run into the Goatman yesterday, Dean finds a distinctive hoofmark near where the scuffle had been and starts back-tracking the monster with Ronnie and Sam trailing. After a few hundred yards, Dean sees where the marks have divulged from a more active trail leading to the park area. He follows it as it goes into the dense scrub vegetation underneath the bridge area, closer to where they parked. He mutters curses under his breath for the wasted steps because he knows he’s limping already.

Sam and Ronnie sit down on the tailgate of the truck as Dean scouts the area trying to pick the trail back up over the ruts from vehicles in the area. He calls and waves them over as he continues to follow the trail into the more densely wooded area. Sam jogs up to his brother. “Does it look like a trail it follows a lot?”

When Dean says it does, the brothers look around to choose a flat area to set up the hunting stand platform. Sam goes back to the truck again, and he and Ronnie start gathering pieces and putting them together while Dean wanders further along the trail without any luck. He limps his way back to help the other hunters attach camouflaged netting over the four foot by four foot box up on a six foot platform.

Hunting boxes have slot openings at sitting level on all four sides, and an inside height of about five feet. In theory, two grown men and their rifles can fit. In practice, one overgrown Sam Winchester doesn’t fit. Ronnie and Dean fit, but getting Dean into the box was difficult and painful, made worse by the ladder becoming slippery under the steady cold misting rain. Dean sends Ronnie back out, asking her to bring the pack and sleeping bag he threw into the truck up to him. When she comes back to reaches for the pack, and then he shuts and locks the trap door.

“Dean, what do you think you’re doing?” Sam’s mad. He just realized his brother intends to stake out the trail today, sitting alone and waiting for the Goatman in the hunting blind Sam just put together and now wants to tear down. “I swear I will take this thing apart with you in it.” Sam’s yelling at the bottom of the box; he punches the hard plastic. “Damnit Dean! Get out of there, or I swear I’m going to stand out here as bait.”

Dean peers out of the slot at his brother. “Quit yelling, Sam, or you’ll give my position away. Maybe you and Ronnie could go pick up some food and stop by the house and pick up my pain pills. I need to sit awhile anyway. It was a real bitch getting up here.” He tries to look innocent and pitiful, but Sam’s not buying what he’s selling.

“This was planned, Dean. Don’t frikkin’ lie. You didn’t accidently bring your pack.” Sam is angry, frustrated, concerned, and, well, angry that his brother is pulling this. He keeps muttering, “childish…stupid…” He stomps away.

Inside the tiny compartment, Dean folds his sleeping bag in thirds to try to cushion where he’ll be sitting. He is aching all over, but wide awake since Sam basically made him take a drug induced nap earlier. He digs water bottles out of his pack and hands them out through the slot to Ronnie. “Sorry about agitating the moose,” he murmurs to Ronnie, who shakes her head.

“Don’t put me in the middle,” she warns.

“Well, just give him the water, please. He needs to hydrate.” Dean knows he had it at least half-planned and his brother is rightfully pissed off at him right now. “I really am hungry, though. Will you please go pick up some burgers? Try to get him to go with you, so he’ll cool off a little.”

Ronnie sighs. She walks over to Sam and hands him the bottle. “You coming with me? He’s right about the eating. Breakfast was a long time ago.”

Sam kicks a rock on the muddy ground and opens the water bottle, swigging it down. “Thanks for this.”

Ronnie snorts. “Compliments of Dean.” For a minute, she thinks he’s going to spit the water out. Instead he gives a big sigh, clasps her on the shoulder as they walk to the truck.

“You better stay up there jerk.” Sam yells as he and Ronnie leave.


	5. Chapter 5

The flickering red and blue lights alert them before they drive up to where Sheriff Department vehicles have traffic blocked in both directions at the long bridge over the Bosque River. Ronnie and Sam pull up to one road block unable to get back into the park with the bacon double cheeseburgers packed in the orange striped bags from Whataburger.

Rolling down her window, Ronnie peers around in the darkening evening at the law enforcement officers until she sees one she met before while working one of her private investigations cases and waves him over. “Hey, Dan, what’s up?”

The deputy swaggers over to the truck in the strange waddling gait officers adopt to accommodate their utility belts. He’s about the same age as Ronnie, Sam notes, about the same height too, but he has a beer belly. After exchanging pleasantries, Ronnie finally gets him to tell her why the bridge and area around it are closed.

“We got calls of shots fired from the park down there, and you know we’ve had some kids go missing there, too. So could be some vigilante decided to take matters into his own hands. I know the first responders found the wreck of a hunting blind in the river. There’s blood all over the place too. We’re still waiting on tracking dogs from the Gatesville prisons to get here. Do a manhunt.”

Ronnie tries to keep her face only politely interested as Sam shuts down his emotions, pulling on a mask of unconcern. He hopes it’s working because he can feel his heart pounding and he’s terrified that Dean’s down there injured, or being eaten, by a Goatman.

Ronnie thanks the deputy and asks if he has any idea how long the area will be closed. After another slight discussion, she rolls her window back up and turns to Sam. “What do you want to do?”

Sam scrubs his hands across his face and pushes his hair behind his ears. He’s trying to push away the horrible images his imagination is flashing through his mind so he can plan, figure out where to look for Dean, because he’ll be damned before he lets his brother down by not looking for him again. The pain in Dean’s eyes when he realized Sam hadn’t looked for him when he was sent to purgatory still burns in Sam’s memory of their first meeting when Dean got back.

“If you could back up and pull over to the side, I’ll slip out of the truck and get down there. Can you turn off the lights, so they won’t notice when I get out? I need to find Dean. We know he was already injured and I don’t like the sound of the hunting blind being knocked over and blood everywhere.” Sam has made up his mind, and now it’s just a matter of gathering what he can to take with him. “Do you have a first aid kit?” Sam asks as Ronnie parks the truck just out of the lighted area from the road block.

Ronnie shuts the truck off, turning off the inside dome lights as well. She leans over to open the glove box for the first aid kit and her movement and the sound of the compartment opening almost masks the quiet opening of the back door of the crew cab. Sam whirls around but recognizes his brother’s back and Bobby’s gun as Dean collapses onto the floor board wriggling his way across. “Get, door, Sam.” Dean’s pants out voice soft and strained. “Then, get, outta here… before, arrested.”

Ronnie gets the truck back onto the road and grabs her cell phone, calling Mary Grace and arranging to meet at a doctor’s clinic. Dean objects feebly but Sam barks at him. “Shut up, Dean. You weren’t even supposed to be out there.” Sam turns around, equal parts furious and worried, and catches his brother’s fruitless struggle to right himself. With a stifled groan, Dean turns enough that he can make eye contact.

“It, had, a kid, Sam. A kid….” Dean’s eyes close again. Ronnie switches on the radio and hits a button to locate a local news channel, and they listen to a report about a child being rescued near North Lake Waco. The news report is sketchy and the child’s insistence that a soldier saved him from a monster is treated with skepticism. There’s talk of a vigilante, and three other children still missing, and dogs from the prison system being used in a manhunt.

Mary Grace must have heard the same news reports because part of what she starts muttering over Dean’s form as she’s undressing him on the exam table is that he had to go be a “big damn hero” instead of taking it easy like he was told. She tasks Sam with washing the mud, leaves, and gravel out of his brother’s wounds, slapping antibiotic washes and pressure bandages on them behind him, like an assembly line in a factory. Once they finish, Mary Grace ties a hospital gown over him for modesty’s sake.

Once she has controlled the bleeding, she again gets Sam to help by moving his brother into an x-ray suite. “Doc’ll be here in a tick. News about what happened’s flying faster than a rumor at a church social. Doc Witte’s a friend a mine and cousin to the family what got their boy back safe. He’s right pleased to be able to help.”

Sam nods, but he can’t drag his eyes away from his brother. Dean’s unconscious, bruised and bleeding from scrapes and cuts; his face is swollen almost unrecognizably. He wants to keep his hand on his brother just to reassure himself that the still, battered form is actually breathing, but he has to move away as Mary Grace starts a series of x-rays, targeting joints and bones under discolored skin.

The doctor is a little guy, compared to Sam or Dean, but he’s actually average height for a man. He’s in his mid-50’s, balding, and currently bustling around the computer display screens checking bones for fractures and breaks. He helps Mary Grace change settings on the machine and in positioning Dean’s unconscious body carefully.

“He’s got four broken ribs, and he’s damned lucky one hasn’t shifted to jab his heart or puncture a lung. It’s not usual, but I’m going to make a cast on him for it, so if he moves we won’t have further complications. When we get him to a bed – he’ll need a hospital bed if not a hospital, we need to have him almost sitting. I’m going to put him on oxygen; he’s breathing too shallowly from the pain. We’ll put him on a morphine drip too.” The doctor is explaining more to Mary Grace than to Sam or Ronnie.

“Broken nose, fractured skull – good thing he’s actually as hard-headed as you said he is, Mary Grace. He’s got fracture marks in his femur too. I’ll want to cast that.”

Mary Grace and Ronnie confer, and the younger woman leaves to have some friends help her move a hospital bed from Mary Grace’s house to her guest bedroom. She tells Sam she’ll see him in a little while. The doctor turns to Sam. “You family?”

Sam nods. “I’m Sam. That’s Dean, my older brother … my only family.” The doctor looks at the stricken expression on Sam’s face and softens his voice. “Well, right now I could use your help, like an orderly, but you’ll need to be really careful when you’re moving him around. Most of what you can see isn’t as bad as it looks. The bones, especially the ribs, they have the potential to be deadly if he doesn’t let them heal. He needs to stay in bed for a few weeks and you’re looking at a couple months for full recovery – if he stays still. These next few days are crucial.”

Sam nods his understanding, but they can read his doubt at being able to control his brother in his expression. Mary Grace takes pity on him. “Well, I know your brother thinks he’s armored plated, but you look big and fit enough to tangle with your weight in bobcats. You can’t sit on him, but we sure as heck can tie him to the bed no matter how lathered up he gets over it.”

Dean stays out of it the next couple hours, and Sam suspects it’s from the pain medicine he’s been injected with. The younger Winchester and the portly nurse help the doctor cast Dean’s ribs with the shoulder portion going over Dean’s good one. His stitches on the other shoulder are cleaned out and re-bandaged. The right femur fracture leads the doctor to put a full leg cast on it. The left knee, still swollen and bruised from the first encounter with the Goatman is wrapped with an ace bandage.

Sam borrows a gurney to move his brother to the back seat of Mary Grace’s Cadillac. He thanks Doctor Witte and arranges to see him at Ronnie’s the next day.

“What’s wrong, sugar?” Mary Grace asks as the overly quiet young giant climbs into the front seat. She can tell from his expression that worry is eating away at him.

“I shouldn’t have let him be out there,” Sam says.

She snorts. “Horsefeathers! Like you could ‘a stopped him. Plus, he saved that boy’s life today. You wouldn’t have changed that.”

Sam looks at her intently. “I might have, but Dean wouldn’t. He’d throw himself in front of a truck to save me or a kid…or just about anyone.” He takes a minute to sort his thoughts. “Once we get Dean settled in, and the manhunt is over, well, if they don’t get this monster, I’ll go do it myself because otherwise we’ll have to keep my brother tied down to stop him from going back out there.” He turns around at where Dean in swaddled in blankets in the backseat. “I just don’t know how to make him stop trying to throw his life away.”

Mary Grace gives him a maternal smile, and takes a proud look at Dean. “Not easy being related to a hero, I reckon. But thank the good lord for putting the likes of him on God’s green Earth. I’m right proud to be able to help ya with him and between us, we’ll keep him safe whether or not he’s hellbent on trouble or not.”


	6. Chapter 6

Sam falls asleep in the large overstuffed arm chair Ronnie moved in beside an honest-to-god hospital bed in the guestroom where Dean has been staying. Sam’s feet are propped on an ottoman, and with a soft throw pulled around him he is more comfortable than in many of the too short motel beds where he has stayed.

The younger hunter has left a dim lamp lit on the bed stand beside him while he watched over his unconscious brother, cataloguing Dean’s injuries as he dozes off: right leg has a fractured femur and is in a cast, left has a wrenched knee, his left shoulder has stitches and is tied in a sling; he has a cast over four broken ribs to hold them in place as he heals, his abdomen and back are masses of deep bruises and gravel abrasions, his nose is broken and both eyes are blackened, the right one swollen to a slit. His bottom lip is split and swollen. There’s a gash on his older brother’s forehead that Sam knows is just the outer manifestation of a hairline skull fracture, not to mention there’s an unhealed cut and bump on the back of his head.

Before the nurse, Mary Grace, left, she made sure the oxygen cannula rested gently under Dean’s nose and the tank has a slow but steady hiss. She also handed Sam a pitcher-looking urinal with instructions to keep his brother in bed, no excuses. Sam’s mouth thinned at how little he expects his brother to listen to him.

Dean wakes first, tongue trying to wet his mouth, but too dry to do much more than soften the gummy blood pasting his lips together. He tries to sit up, but the pain stops him. He looks around as much as he can without actually moving his head, which feels like it weighs ten times as much as it should, trying to figure out where he is. It’s a hospital bed; he can tell that from the angle he’s propped up, but this isn’t a hospital. Slowly he remembers that he is in Ronnie Carpenter’s guest room. That means two things, he lived through his second encounter with the Goatman, and Sam is going to be pissed off at him when he wakes up.

As much as he wishes he didn’t have to, Dean doesn’t see any other option except to wake the sleeping giant. He has bodily needs that are screaming for attention. He needs water and he needs to relieve the tension in his bladder.

“Sammy,” Dean whispers, almost soundlessly. Sam doesn’t stir, and Dean has to inhale, which hurts, to find enough air to make his second attempt louder. “Sammy?” When he has no luck the second try, Dean tries to leverage his body using his right arm, but his ribs protest and he can’t quite bite back the whimper of pain, closing his eyes to try to recuperate.

When he opens them again, it’s to look directly into his brother’s angry hazel eyes. “What do you think you’re doing, Dean?” Sam’s voice is low, but there’s no hiding the anger in them.

“Bathroom…” Dean hisses the one word, trying to make it a plea for help. Sam holds the urinal out to him. “Nooo, Ssam.”

“Yes, Dean. You can’t get up, and I’m not carrying you. Now, can you handle this yourself, or do you need my help?”

Even as he’s talking, Sam starts to move the sheet out of the way and goes to lift the hospital gown Dean is wearing. Dean holds it down with his one hand and pleads with Sam. “Nooo.” He grabs the container. “Turn.” Even the little movement he has allowed himself and words used as sparsely as he can, Dean is panting from the effort and the pain. He relieves his bladder and carefully maneuvers the urinal out from under his gown.

Sam takes the urinal from him, going to the bathroom to empty it into the 24-hour collection lidded container that Mary Grace said to use. Sam isn’t overly concerned to be able to see blood in it. Doctor Witte had told him the bad bruising probably meant his brother’s kidneys were injured. Sam rinses the emptied container, washes his hands, then moistens a wash cloth for his brother.

When he gets back into the bedroom, he isn’t sure whether Dean has fallen back asleep. He moves closer to the bed to clean Dean’s hand. When he looks up at his brother’s face, Dean is staring back. “Thanks, Sam.” He pants, then tries to moisten his mouth with his tongue again, wanting to say more to his brother.

“You thirsty, Dean?” The older brother barely nods his head, the movement causing him pain and making him flinch.

Sam takes a large glass of iced water from the bed stand and adjusts a straw against Dean’s lip. Sam is torn; he wants to yell at Dean and tell him he was an absolute idiot to confront the Goatman alone, but on the other hand he wants to cradle his brother gently in his arms just glad that he’s alive. When he takes the straw from Dean’s mouth, his brother tries talking first.

“I know. I’m dumb, but Sam. It had a kid.” Dean’s panting and pleading with Sam, still unable to inhale deeply. “Please, Sam. Sorry.” He wilts into the pillow.

“You are so lucky that you are too beat up for me to kick your ass right now,” Sam retorts, but he feels the angry coil in his belly relax some. It’s hard for him to stay angry at Dean, even when Dean deserves it. “That was one of the most reckless things you have ever done, Dean. You could have been killed. Hell, look at you. You almost were.”

Dean tries to sit up when his brother moves away. He falters falling back and gasping. He grabs at Sam’s hand. “Please…”

Sam moves back. “Please, what, Dean? Please don’t be angry that my brother – the one who I just spent a year mourning – almost got himself killed because he wouldn’t listen to me? Please don’t be angry that you never listen to me? That you do crazy suicidal shit? What?” Sam crowds up to the bed, his hand tightened into a fist. “What else do you want from me, Dean? How else do you plan to rip me to pieces? Do you think this is easy? That last year was easy? That I forgot about you? What is it you want now?”

The younger Winchester knows he is browbeating his brother, and he knows this is not the best time. But Sam has been holding so much inside these few months that Dean has been back. He had finally gotten to where the pain of what he thought was his brother’s death at Sucro Corp headquarters was a scar. Dean coming back and being so disappointed in Sam had reopened the wound. Standing here beside his brother, so battered and almost dead again, it is too much.

Dean tries to avert his face, finally throwing his one good arm over his eyes, but Sam can see a tear trickling down his brother’s cheek. Sam’s anger stutters to a close. “What, Dean? What can I do for you?” Sam asks much more gently.

Barely audible, muffled by his arm, Dean says “Please don’t leave me.”


	7. Chapter 7

Sam and Dean both jump when Mary Grace slams her way into the room, barreling along like a tank and with a look at Sam that makes him want to curl up and hide. He knows he let his anger pour out uncontrolled. He knows that it makes him look like a bully, considering how fragile and hurt his brother is right now; but, damnit, Dean pushes his buttons quicker than anyone.

“You’re mean as a cotton mouth snake this morning, Mister. Just you get out of here right now before I skin ya and nail your hide to the barn. Scoot!” Matronly figures always stymy the Winchester boys, neither knowing how to deal with a mother. And an angry mama bear mother has Sam stammering and wishing he could insist on staying with his brother, especially after his brother’s quiet plea. Just as he is about to insist, he’s notices that stuttering whimper coming from his brother is an attempt to stifle laughter. Sam stalks out of the room all ruffled feathers and pride.

Ronnie is standing in the hall near the kitchen entrance holding her coffee mug up to her face, but Sam can tell by the look she gives him that she heard what Mary Grace said, and probably the part where he was yelling at his injured, bedridden, heroic, frustratingly stubborn brother too. He scrubs his forehead in frustration, and then sighs. For a guy as tall as Sam is, he has a way of looking up at people sheepishly through his too long hair and sweeping eyelashes. “Got any more of that coffee?”

As Ronnie and Sam settle around the table with coffee and homemade muffins, Mary Grace bustles in and starts a kettle, pulling out two packets of instant apples and cinnamon oatmeal. Sam’s eyes dart over to her and away as he tries to find a way to tell her he was justified in badgering his brother. He clears his throat. “I’m sorry.” He gulps some of the coffee and continues as though he’s talking to the table. “It’s hard to explain … hard to talk about, but Dean’s my family. I love him. I want him to get better. But he, he … makes me so angry sometimes. He was … he does …. I just…” Sam shakes his head, defeated by the sheer amount that he needs to explain.

Mary Grace puts her hand on the back of Sam’s neck fingers gently massaging the tension that’s so apparent. “Take deep breaths. If you want to talk, we’re listening.”

Sam looks between Ronnie and Mary Grace, trying to gauge whether Mary Grace is clued in to the supernatural, and Ronnie understands what he is wordlessly asking. “Mary Grace has helped me out several times when salt and burns have gotten tough. You can talk around her.”

With a grimace, Sam stammers out, “Even hunters sometimes don’t get what we’ve been through. But I want to trust someone, and I think I want to talk. It’s our life, though, a little hard to believe.” His mouth moves into a rueful moue. “Promise not to lock me up on a psych ward?”

Ronnie snorts, and then traces an x over her heart. “I’ve heard rumors, you know. You guys are pretty famous.” Mary Grace crosses her heart too.

“Infamous, you mean.” Sam takes a big bite of the lemon poppy seed muffin and chews while he thinks about where to start.

Ronnie gives him a half smile. “I’d met your brother and your father before I heard any rumors, and I was inclined to think kindly of them. They saved my life. So, try us. We’re at least willing to listen, and we’re used to group therapy. That’s where we met. You look like you could really use someone to talk to, and we’re non-judgmental and here. I think it would help you, and God knows it can’t get much worse.”

Mary Grace tells them to eat and not start talking without her even if feeding and medicating Dean takes longer than she expects it will because Dean’s “tuckered out.” She has gathered ice packs, the oatmeal, and even a cup of coffee for charge. “I don’t think he’ll eat oatmeal,” Sam offers, but she just huffs out a laugh, telling him to watch and see.

When she returns after only ten minutes with an empty bowl, Sam’s amazed. “How’d you get him to eat that?”

The older woman gives Sam a disbelieving look. “Honey, your brother is a lamb; he’s just a sweet and squishy marshmallow and he’s not feeling well. He’s probably falling back asleep right now, and when he wakes up – you – are going to be there for him. You hear me?”

Sam gives her a doubtful look, but quickly acquiesces when she threatens to whack him with a wooden spoon.

With all three settled at the table, Ronnie redirects Sam to the story of the Winchesters. In a rumbling voice, Sam tells the story without embellishment starting with a house fire that took their mother that was actually a result of a demon deal his mother had made, to life as a vagabond in the family business with his brother raising him, about an old Impala, and ghosts, ghouls, Wendigos, hell hounds, shapeshifters, vampires, college, Jess, absentee and adopted fathers, a roadhouse and the women who lived there, dying and demon deals, Lisa and Ben, demon blood and being led astray, addiction, witnesses and horsemen, hell and resurrection, heaven and hell, and stopping the apocalypse, Alphas, Lucifer and Crowley, angels, God and prophets, being soulless, and being used by family, and going crazy, losing everyone except each other, and then purgatory and Leviathan, and saving the world and losing a friend who once lost everything for them, and betrayals, and wanting a normal life and a home, and losing his brother again and again.

By the time he gets to running, and Amelia and a dog, and giving up, and tablets, and his brother’s startling return, he stops and finally raises his head, and shrugs. “I just … I can’t keep watching him throw his life away. I don’t want to throw mine away either.” Sam sighs and his sad expressive eyes plead with them. “I feel like we’ve done enough and that maybe, just maybe, we deserve a break, retirement, a life outside of the hunt.” He trails off, watching the two women who are trying to process everything he just told them. “But I can’t convince him of that. And I can’t just let him go off to do it on his own.”

Ronnie breaks the silence. “That’s a lot to take in.”

“It was a lot to live through.” Sam feels lighter than he has felt for a long time; and he realizes something, in the hour it took to give these two women the Cliff Notes version of the life of Sam and Dean Winchester, he has been more honest than he was in all the time he spent with Amelia. He also understands that by answering with half-truths and deflections, he hasn’t been honest with Dean either.

Mary Grace moves to offer Sam a hug. “You two have overdosed on woe.” She draws a shaky breath and draws Sam’s head onto her shoulder, smoothing his hair with her tears falling freely.

The younger woman breaks the resulting silence. “I know I’ll never be able to completely understand what you’ve been through, or how you’ve even managed to keep going, but it seems to me that you need to actually talk to your brother, not just snipe at him. And you need him to talk to you. Might be no time like the present; he’s not going anywhere right now.”


	8. Chapter 8

Day two is the armpit of recuperation. Bruises and bumps look their worst the second day after a trauma, and bones ache more.  The only outward positive is that Dean’s eye that was swollen shut yesterday has had enough time and aspirin and ice bags to be able to open again. When his eyes flutter open, Dean is transfixed by the hazel ones staring down at him from Sam’s earnest face because the younger Winchester has been perched on the side of the hospital bed, waiting.

“Sonofabitch, what is it with you freaks watching me sleep. That’s creepy, Sam. Creepy!” Dean sputters as he tries to jolt upright only to have his brother’s huge hand pressing on his casted ribs and holding him to the bed. Dean subsides, letting his heart and his breathing go back to normal, or as normal as he can with Sam looming over him.

Sam smiles because he realizes that casting the ribs is already working to make Dean breathe more freely, based on how much better his brother is already able to speak. He realizes the oxygen tube is gone too. “You look innocent asleep, Dean.” Sam laughs at his brother’s bewildered look. “Don’t worry; it goes away as soon as you wake up. Anyway, how you doing, Dean?”

Sam’s solicitude has Dean wary. He’s been having trust issues with his brother – and, well, just about everyone. The year he just spent, a year of being on alert 24-7, looking for danger at 360 degrees, isn’t fading into forgetfulness quickly. Plus, Dean can tell his brother has been lying to him, withholding information, and generally weirding him out ever since he made it back from Purgatory. He hesitates just a bit too long, and Sam’s face hardens. It makes him look more like their father.

“It’s a simple question, Dean, asked out of brotherly concern. It’s not a trap.” Sam stands up, turns his back, clenches and unclenches his fists. He rolls his head and wills himself to relax. Sam will not let this set him off, make him lose his temper, again. “Well, you need help and I’m here to help you this afternoon. I’m not going anywhere, so get used to it.”

Dean nods. “Okay, Sam. I get it. You’re here to help. So, tell me what the news is as far as the Goatman. Police catch him?” Sam grunts. Why does he brother bring everything back to the job?

“Answer my question first. How are you? And don’t just say fine because you’re not; doc said six weeks of recovery. I’m trying to help, so I need to know what’s hurting, whether you need pain meds or you’re hungry or thirsty, or need a bath or a piss, and no matter what your needs are – I’m here. Got it, Dean?” Sam sits back down, his actions much more gentle than his words. “I’ll answer you question for question.”

Dean wants to object, but he knows he can’t, even though he shakes his head at the idea of this taking six weeks. He’s currently has two bad legs, so he can’t walk away either, not to mention he’s only able to sit up right now because he’s propped up. His back and ribs are screaming at him in pain. One arm is trussed to his body and his head is throbbing. All in all, he feels helpless, and that’s a dangerous position to be in. Like a cornered animal, his first instinct is to fight. It takes every ounce of trust he can muster to stay calm.

“So, I take it you’re still mad?” Dean asks hesitantly.

Sam sighs. “Mad? You mean because you played me to get you out to that park even though you were already injured? Or cause then you didn’t even stay in the hunting blind until we got back with dinner? Is that what you’re wondering if I’m angry about?”

“Got it wrong, Sam. I tried to stay in the blind, but that fugly-assed monster came walking down the path with a kid, little boy about eight maybe. I shot it, and it dropped the kid, but then it knocked the blind over. It felt like it was playing frikkin’ kickball with it with me inside. I was, I was trying to hold onto Bobby’s gun and get another shot off without maybe hitting the kid.” It’s hard to look tough when you’re in a hospital gown, and Dean just looks tired. “I’m not sorry, Sam. I got out alive and I got that kid out alive. And I’d do it all over again.”

Dean is visibly shaking after expending the energy he put into finally having his say, and Sam brings him some water, holds the cup allowing his brother to drink through the straw. These little things Sam can do help calm him a little, and they give Sam time to sort his thoughts. He doesn’t quite know how to segue back to the incident, to the fact that it didn’t have to be Dean. It could have been Ronnie, or Sam, or some other hunter.

 “Okay, Dean. I’ll go first. We’ll put that behind us, and we’ll both pretend you didn’t get half killed out there. Like you have to throw yourself in front of every kid, or, hell, in front of me and every dangerous thing you can find. But you’re worth more than that. It matters to me that you almost got yourself killed, now, just a little while since you came back from the dead, again.”

Dean turns his head away. It’s his only way to escape from his little brother’s prying eyes right now. Sam watches his brother try to withdraw, and his heart breaks a little more.

Despite his best intentions, Sam reaches out to touch Dean, to prove his brother is there, to prove he’s really alive. “So, you want an update? Manhunt is still on. Cops are upset because something has killed two of the tracking dogs, so they withdrew them and are working a grid with search parties. There’s nothing we could do right now, so all you have to do is take time to get better.”

Then Sam turns practical. He’s planning to take care of Dean whether his brother wants him to or not. While tending Dean’s bodily needs and ignoring his big brother’s obvious embarrassment briskly, Sam thinks about something Dean said when they were tracking the organs from a Mayan deity. Dean had said that he was at his best with his brother next to him. That he had no one except his brother to share this life with. _“I know where I am at my best. And that is right here, driving down crazy street, next to you.”_

And Sam remembers what he had said in response. That he told Dean that his older brother didn’t really need him. _“Maybe you're at your best hacking and slicing your way through all the world's crap alone. Not having to explain yourself to anybody.”_ He knows that’s the type of threat hanging over Dean’s head – he knows that Dean has a pathological fear of abandonment. He just wishes having a life of his own didn’t have to exclude his brother, but unless he can convince Dean to let someone else carry the world on his shoulders, Dean is inextricably tied into the hunting life.

Dean interrupts Sam’s thoughts. “I think you get off on having me helpless, Sammy. Like you enjoy playing like you’re the dad or something.”

That forces a huff of laughter from Sam. “Yeah, cause you’re the only one allowed to act all parental? Or is it because you still think I’m some wet-behind-the-ears kid you have to look after?” He catches his brother’s eye. “Did you ever think that times when you are in really bad shape are the only times you let me take care of you?”

His voice husky with emotion, Dean says, “It’s not supposed to be that way. I’m supposed to take care of you.” He reaches his good arm out and catches Sam’s wrist where he has been combing Dean’s hair after washing it carefully, avoiding the bruises and wounds on both the front and the back. “I know I haven’t done that great a job, Sam, and that I let you get hurt too many times. Then I abandoned my post this past year. But I’ll never stop trying.”

Sam shakes his head. How can he argue with a guy who insists on seeing everything as his fault? Blaming himself for being blown away to Purgatory? He carefully gathers Dean’s medicines and holds them in front of Dean until his brother opens his mouth to allow his brother to drop them in. Then he holds the glass of water again while Dean washes them down.  Then he stands, ready to move into the waiting chair, give them both a little breathing space. “We’re supposed to take care of each other, man. Look at you, then tell me - how’ve I been doing lately?”


	9. Chapter 9

When Dean wakes from his drug induced nap, Sam is sitting in the cozy chair reading and quietly watching over his brother. He just spent hours thinking about losing his brother again, and all the times he has lost Dean, and how human and fragile his brother really is.

“Good, you’re up. I’ll go get you some dinner.” Sam is up from the chair and starting to bustle from the room before Dean’s doing more than blinking his big green eyes sleepily. The older Winchester runs his hand over his face, mind heavy and still under the influence of opiates. He’s trying to piece his thoughts together, knowing he was dreaming about the Goatman case and how to track the monster down.

“Sam, wait …” he gets out, but Sam shushes him like he’s a fretful child before heading out the door. Dean takes being treated that way about as well as can be expected. He grumbles and wriggles himself upright balancing precariously on the edge of the bed, intent on getting up and following Sam. The younger brother sees the motion from the corner of his eye and whirls back.

“Get back in the freaking bed, Dean.” Sam’s tone is menacing and his face is set in an intense scowl. “You are not allowed to get up and undo all the good we’ve done in getting you better.”

Dean narrows his eyes into a glare, and holds his brother’s gaze as he starts to lower his legs to the ground. Sam swears and grabs him around the waist holding him upright for a beat before giving him a shake and lifting him back into the hospital bed. “No, Dean. You don’t get to ignore me in this. You don’t get to shut me out and stop me from helping you this time. You don’t get to be Batman, or whatever crazy mixed-up thing you think you are every time you leave me to wonder if I lost the rest of my family.”

Dean is bewildered. Sam’s reaction seems a little overboard to him. He struggles to sit up again. “What the hell, Sam?”

Red-faced and shaking with emotion, Sam continues. “You treat your life like it’s a frikkin’ video game, Dean. You run around trying to accomplish every silly mission you come across like you’ve got extra lives waiting. And like my emotions are a yo-yo. You’re dead – you’re alive. You’re in hell, or purgatory, and you won’t even tell me about it. You shut me out. Well, if you won’t bother to take care of yourself, I’m going to do it because you don’t get to keep doing this to me.”

Dean stares open-mouthed, and then he gets mad. “I’ve never left you on purpose…I’ve never left you for dead.” But even as he says it, Dean pictures a time when he was young and a Shtriga almost got his brother because Dean wasn’t where he was supposed to be. It adds a wobble to his voice.

Sam cuts him off. “Don’t try to make this about me.” He storms out of the room leaving his brother puzzled about what the hell just happened, and why the camaraderie they once shared seems so long ago.

After a little while Mary Grace comes in with food and toiletries. “Why do you let him get your goat like that?” Mary Grace asks Dean who is fuming about Sam being overbearing in making him stay in bed instead of letting him get up and be useful. The older woman is trying to help Dean get washed up and fed after another long day recuperating.

“What’s that even mean? What’s ‘getting your goat’ in English?” Dean sputters, tired, sore, and up to his eyeballs in frustration after his latest encounter with his brother. “I know you mean well, Mary Grace, but I’m too damn pissed off to decode what you’re saying right now.”

“Don’t you be putting your back up at me, Honey. I’m just spectating at this rodeo. You and your brother lock horns over just about everything, and I was just wondering why you let him get to you like that?”

Dean’s brow furrows even more deeply until she starts massaging his neck and he leans into her touch like a cat. She thinks she wouldn’t be surprised if he started purring. It is heartbreaking to her to see how easily the slightest bit of positive attention calms this intense young man. She wonders how he can be such a heroic figure and broken spirit at the same time. And she wonders how his brother can care so much but always say the wrong thing.

“Whelp, if I remember rightly, ‘getting your goat’ comes from the way horse trainers use goats to calm thoroughbred race horses. If a rival wants an unfair advantage, all he has to do is steal the other guy’s goat. Then his horses get riled up and lose the race. But, Sugar, you’ve got your goat parading around in the front yard with a sign on him advertising ‘free goat’ every time your brother’s around.”

Dean blinks slowly. “So you think I’m asking for it?” He struggles to remember Sam’s and his latest argument to see if he can figure out if she’s right.

“I think you two are fighting about purty much everything except what’s really stuck in your craw.” Mary Grace eases Dean back onto his pillow again unsurprised at the thoughtful look on his face.

“That’s my brother, you know; I pretty much raised him. He is the best thing in my life, and he’s the only thing I haven’t completely screwed up. I don’t get this – how we can hardly be in the same room any more.” Dean chokes with emotion and grows quiet. “I’d do anything for him.”

Mary Grace pats his good shoulder. “What you may need to do is let him take care of you a little bit. God knows you need it right now, even if you don’t want to admit it.”

Dean remains quiet, thoughtful, and in bed for the rest of the evening. But Sam doesn’t come back in, staying away until Dean falls back asleep.

By the fourth day, Dean is determined to get up and Sam is still just as determined not to let him.

“You’re not Superman, you know, Dean. You’re not the man of steel, and I am not ready to lose you again so soon – or maybe permanently.” Sam grouses at his brother.

“I get it, Sam. I’m not a hero in your eyes anymore. Note to self, feet of clay. But I’m doing better. Tell him, Mary Grace,” Dean tries insisting, but Mary Grace and Ronnie decide emphatically to be Switzerland and refuse to take part in the argument. They do call Doc Witte to examine Dean.

Dean is displeased with the doctor’s decisions, and Sam – who insisted on staying in the room to hear the verdict from the doctor’s lips himself – gloats. Even though the doctor says Dean can lose the knee brace and the sling, he still isn’t cleared to walk around. Doc says crutches are out because of the broken ribs, and because Dean cannot use his shoulder for maneuvering, nor should he hop on his knee yet.

As soon as the doctor leaves, Dean wriggles his way into sweat pants and a flannel shirt which he leaves open because the cast on his ribs won’t let him button it. Using a borrowed motorized wheelchair, Dean carefully drives into the kitchen, refusing to admit that moving that much has reawakened all his aches.

Ronnie encourages him to go sit in the Carpenter Investigations office to read news reports, hack into traffic cameras, and become involved in the hunt for the Goatman. So it is Dean checking news accounts who comes across the sketch of himself on the Waco Tribune’s website – labeled as a hero who rescued a local boy.  A local television news channel has the same drawing but is calling him a possible vigilante who was taking the law into his own hands in the search for a child kidnapper. Both say he’s wanted for questioning as a witness to the attempted felony.

“Pretty good likeness.” Mary Grace can tell from his glare that’s not what her patient wants to hear. She looks at Ronnie who gives a small shrug. They both expect what happens next.

“It looks just like you,” Sam insists.

Dean snorts. “That looks like Chris Evans as Captain America. No frikkin way any cop is going to look at that and see me. Plus, they probably think the kid is just describing a hero. I’d be fine to get out there. I could monitor a path from the car or Ronnie’s truck.”

Sam peers over his brother’s head at the computer screen. “Looks enough like you that it could be a problem, especially if we’re anywhere near Lake Waco. Good thing you’re stuck in the house recuperating anyway.” Sam is a little smug in his pronouncement. He sees his brother narrowing his eyes and tries to change the subject. “What else did you find? Deputies still searching? Increased patrols?”

Dean shakes his head. “Looks like they are calling off the manhunt. We’ll have to go after it ourselves.”

It’s Sam’s turn to snort. “You aren’t going anywhere, Dean. For once, you are going to let me take care of something myself because – believe it or not – I’m not your helpless little kid brother.”


	10. Chapter 10

Dean is maneuvering his wheelchair gingerly around the kitchen in the early morning of day five of recovery trying to get coffee and breakfast started for everyone when his brother wanders into the kitchen. Sam glances at Dean, shoves his hair back from his eyes and grunts. “Why are you up?” He knows he shouldn’t be growling at Dean this early, but everything Dean does lately pisses him off and reminds him of the look of disappointment when he returned from Purgatory. He doesn’t like how his brother judged him.

“Good morning to you too, Sunshine,” Dean returns. “I’m feeling better and thought I’d make French toast for breakfast. Want some?” Dean finishes setting up the coffee maker and begins collecting items onto the counter while he talks, a loaf of bread, eggs, butter, the skillet. It takes longer than it might someone who isn’t wheeling around, but he has the use of both arms now. He’s stymied at the powdered sugar which is on the top shelf; he can’t stand and reaching over his head makes his broken ribs hurt. Sam steps over to lift it down for him with a nod, an unspoken Winchester apology for bitching with his first words of the day.

Keeping one eye on his brother, Dean puts the skillet on the stove and starts whipping the eggs in a bowl. He wants to be able to talk to Sam without it turning into an argument, so he starts mulling over how best to approach Sam about getting the Goatman, finally.

Tact has never been Dean’s strongest point, and lately it doesn’t come easily, especially not since the daily grind of survival that was Purgatory. Somehow his nerves just feel too raw for him to be gentle, lies grate on emotions too sensitive to avoid. But Dean knows he has to do this carefully, and he knows he’s going to have to watch how he brings this up because his brother’s year off has made him more prickly than ever – he’s almost as bad as when he was a brooding teenager before he ran off to Stanford, and Dean thinks that’s fitting because he knows Sam wants to run off again. Dean is so tied up in his own thoughts that he jumps in his chair letting out a muttered “jeez” and a muffled groan when Sam claps a hand on his shoulder.

Sam smirks at his brother. “Want to share with the class, Dean? I’ve been talking to you but you were somewhere else altogether.”

Dean clears his throat wondering when talking to his little brother got to be so difficult, knowing now that Dad was as much a buffer for him as he was for Dad. Dean tells himself to treat Sam as just another hunter, knowing in his heart he can’t; he never could. Sam has been the center of Dean’s life for so long that he feels paralyzed at the thought of putting him in harm’s way – at sending him out against the monster that put him in this chair – especially now that he knows he is the only reason Sam is risking his life.  He can’t lose him. Can’t let him down. He wills away the worry that’s got a choke hold on his vocal chords.

“Think I may know where the Goatman’s hiding.” Dean’s voice is more gravelly than usual, but now that these first words are out he feels his chest loosen up a little. “I was studying the terrain using satellite photos yesterday and I saw something. It’s been gelling in my head, but while I was sleeping it made sense. And…”

“And…” Sam says a bit impatiently. He really would rather not fight until he has at least a cup of coffee. “You know you’re not going after it.”

“And… I think you and Ronnie should go check it out … without me.” Those words come rushing out of Dean’s mouth like escaping convicts. “We need to get this sonofabitch because it’s mean; and it’s injured, so it’ll probably be even meaner. We…I mean you and Ronnie need to take it down before it eats anymore kids.” Dean moves a plate with three slices in front of his brother just as Ronnie walks in yawning.

“I could get used to having someone cook me breakfast. Oh, and having the coffee ready. Your brother’s pretty handy to have around,” Ronnie says to Sam before collapsing with her mug at the table. “What were you saying about knowing where that monster might be?”

The three hunters go over the notes Dean jotted down, and they agree that the abandoned building out in scrub trees northwest of the park is a likely place for the monster’s den. Ronnie and Sam will head out to check it out right after breakfast. “I’m not the best shot, Dean.” The complaint is out of Sam’s mouth before he thinks to stop. Dean, the expert marksman of the family, can’t go.

“I can shoot.” Ronnie points out. “If I can borrow your bear gun and its silver bullets. Maybe you could bring that big knife,” Ronnie says to Sam. “We can behead the sonofabitch to make sure it stays dead. Do you need me to get Mary Grace over here to help you?” Ronnie asks Dean, but he insists he is getting around better and will remain functioning without the pain killers that make him so sleepy. His voice is a little gruff when he says he’ll man the phones in her office and wait there for them. It’s obvious being left behind is painful for him.

“I’m sorry we’ve been imposing on you,” Dean says to Ronnie. “We’ll get out from underfoot as soon as we can after this is over.” His face is red with shame. He really hates that he has been laid up so long, useless, totally reliant on her goodwill and contacts, not to mention her food and shelter.

Ronnie looks puzzled, and then she turns to Sam. “Your big brother’s serious, isn’t he? That self-effacing modesty thing isn’t a joke or an act?” She pins Dean with an intent look, like she’s trying to see inside him. “You were injured doing me a favor – and I still owed you from when I was a kid. As far as I’m concerned, you can stay here until you’re fully recovered. I can’t thank you enough.”

Sam shakes his head. Dean had been losing self-esteem for years before he disappeared when he killed Dick Roman. He wasn’t the same guy after he can back from Hell, and after losing Lisa and Ben he practically crawled into a bottle. This version that came back from Purgatory seems to think he exists only to kill monsters. The younger Winchester wonders again what exactly happened to his brother this time, what he’s blaming himself for like he had done after being tortured in Hell by Alastair, and he wishes that Dean would talk to him so he could understand what is going on with him.

“Yeah, even after all these years and everything he’s done, my big brother doesn’t get how special he is. I can’t live up to him, I never could. He’s the best damn hunter I’ve ever met.” Sam shifts in his seat. “He’s done so much and has basically had to carry me along beside him. Dean has spent his whole life looking after me and putting his life on the line for complete strangers.”

Dean ducks his head uncomfortable being the topic of conversation. He’s trying not to get mad because he thinks Sam is mocking him, but Sam catches his eye and Dean can see his brother means it. He snorts. “Maybe you’re the one who needs to stop thinking I’m some kind of superhero, Sam.” He turns to look at Ronnie. “Sam here is the brains of the operation. He’s a genius. I’m the screw up – just a dumb grunt. I’ve messed up so many times, let down so many people. My biggest accomplishment has been to survive – and I barely manage that lately.” He shakes his head again and makes a mumbled excuse to leave the room.

Sam watches him go before he turns back to Ronnie to hammer out plans for the hunt, but finds her staring at him appraisingly. “Your brother’s visible wounds are the least of it, you know. Seems like something deep inside him is broken.” Ronnie says, and Sam would get angry about her prying, but he can see she actually cares and he knows it’s the truth.

“Any idea what it is, or how I could help him? Because I would do almost anything for him. Anything he’d let me do.”

“…almost anything?” Ronnie asks, drawing a deep sigh from Sam.

“I don’t want to hunt anymore. I haven’t for a year…since the last time I thought I’d lost my brother. He’s my whole family, my only family, and a big pain in the ass a lot of the time. I just want something more … normal. My own family, maybe. A place to call home. A college degree. Something besides risking my life – risking my brother’s life – to do. I feel like we’ve done enough.” Sam looks at Ronnie apologetically. “We have given enough. I just got him back. I don’t want to lose him again, and I sure don’t want to see him throwing his life away.”

Ronnie doesn’t know whether to apologize for ever having involved them in the Goatman case, and Sam must read that in her expression. “I…I didn’t mean that you shouldn’t have…I wasn’t…” Sam’s stammering and his puppy dog look melts her heart, and Ronnie takes pity on him.

“Let’s just plan the hunt, or really – let’s just go over these notes and see how your brother planned it all out, with diagrams, really. He was pretty thorough.”


	11. Chapter 11

Dry, and winter yellow, the overgrown grass and cedar scrub almost cover the track Ronnie’s truck takes over a rutted dirt path that leads to a dilapidated shack with a rusted metal roof. It may once have been part of an old homestead, and 20 feet away stands the crumbling remains of a fireplace making that a likely assumption. Whatever once was here has been gone for a long time because the prickly pear cactus, scrub brush, and plethora of weeds seem to be the only living things.

Putting the truck in park, Sam and Ronnie look over the diagram Dean drew, checking to see where the faint path’s barely noticeable in the satellite photos are in actuality. Sam has Bobby’s .338 magnum Winchester loaded with silver bullets; Ronnie is carrying a Savage 30-06 that Dean had silver ammo for in the trunk. Both are further armed with machetes and silver knives. Sam hopes the Goatman is down before they get close enough to use them.

Dean’s plan calls for them to watch the shack for any signs and wait until they know whether the monster is injured before closing in; and Sam can read Dean’s worry in the instructions to stay within eye contact of each other. Sam knows Dean based these recommendations (Hell, orders is more like it.) on his two run-ins with the monster. He also notes where Dean has written the reminder “If it bleeds, you can kill it” on the side of the diagram and has marked a rocky dry creek bed as a likely burn place for the body. However, the younger Winchester is worried about leaving his brother out of his sight for too long. Who knows what kind of trouble Dean can get himself into even from a wheelchair?

“I’d like to try moving in on the Goatman,” Sam tells Ronnie. “But first I want to scout the back to see if there’s another exit. We can stay in touch with these.” He hands her a walkie-talkie. “If you’ll keep an eye out here in the front. You can stay in the truck if you’d like.”

Ronnie snorts. “Sam, I’m not some damsel in distress. I’m a hunter too. How about we figure the best way to scout this place together and we both do it?” She shakes her head and shudders. “You’ve gotta let me be your backup, and we’ve got to watch each other’s back. I sure as hell ain’t going back to your brother if you get hurt and there was something I could have done to prevent it.”

Sam looks at her sheepishly. “I guess we both know where I learned over-protectiveness.”

Ronnie looks over the plan again, especially the hand-drawn diagram of likely paths to and from the shack. “When did your brother have time to do all this?”

“Dean probably didn’t sleep last night,” Sam answers. “He must have waited ‘til I fell asleep though - control freak that he is.” The younger Winchester grumbles. “He refuses to admit I’m a grown man.” Ronnie smiles, imagining the older brother carefully pouring over satellite photos and researching details, planning the hunt for the younger. No matter if Sam thinks it’s a sign of distrust of his skills, she knows it was done from love.

Together Ronnie and Sam determine who will go which way in the scout, and where they will meet back up. They also agree to keep radio silence unless they actually see the Goatman. Sam still can’t resist reminding her that the monster is supernaturally fast. They agree on check in intervals and to using radio clicks as the okay signal.

The two hunters climb out of the truck, closing the doors quietly, and take off stealthily in opposite directions. They both have binoculars as well as the rest of their gear. With brief rustling in the bushes, they disappear from near the truck moving as softly and silently has  
they can. A steady breeze helps mask their movements, and the clicks at five minute intervals let the other know that all is clear as they circle the shack at a distance.

Not quite twenty minutes later, Sam and Ronnie meet back near the clearest path to the shack. Neither found any other exit, no other doors, windows, or tumbled down segments, so the barn-like door they have in sight is the only way in or out. Sam decides not to wait around until the thing comes out, like his brother’s plan suggests, instead he hands Ronnie one of the two .45 caliber semi-automatic handguns he has loaded with silver, and they reluctantly leave the rifles at the truck as useless for close encounters.

Sam seems to remember Bobby saying something once about when a hunter should go into a den to check on and finish off an injured animal, but he can’t remember the specifics, and he’s not sure if the same applies to monsters. Sam also isn’t sure if he should use the .45s, but he doesn’t want to call Dean because that will just alert him to the fact that Sam is changing the plan. He rolls his head to help relieve the stress building up in his neck and checks over his shoulder on Ronnie’s position as they ease up to the door.

Sam motions for Ronnie to move forward to open the door as he levels the pistol in a two-handed hold, entering the shed slowly, trying to give his eyes time to adjust to the low lighting of the old shack. Ronnie has one hand lightly on his back as she follows him in, using it to let Sam know where she is while relying on his eyesight adjustment until hers can catch up. The air inside is slightly dank, and the building smells like old feces, decay, and rot. They pause for a moment, then Sam motions for her to cover the left side as he covers the right and they move in step further into the building, both searching for likely hiding places.

The building was once a tack barn, and it has a small room partially walled off in the back as well as two stalls. It’s open other than that, and Sam takes point again heading toward the stalls and letting Ronnie cover him. They try not to make any noise, but scuffle a little while they are walking. Something further in rustles, and the hunters freeze for a moment again, listening. Sam moves forward again, clearing the stalls – empty of living things - and heading toward the entrance way to the back room.

The Goatman burst out knocking Sam to the side and barreling into Ronnie, knocking her to the ground. Sam remembers how huge he thought this monster was the first time it tossed him around. It seems even bigger now. It was still moving fast, but not as quickly as it had been, and it was listing to one side. One of the Goatman’s arms hung at an awkward angle near its greasy and blood splattered fur. It was obvious that it had not recovered well from the gunshot wound which was still oozing blood and stinking of infection. Its golden, slitted-eyes bloodshot, one horn broken and floppy.

Sam recovers and watches Ronnie roll into her fall, bringing her .45 up in a two-handed hold. Sam brings his level too and they both start firing. The large caliber bullets coming from two different directions buffet the tottering monster and it roars, lunging toward Sam. Sam empties the handgun before dropping it, reaching for his machete as the creature staggers toward him.

Ronnie leaps up from the floor holstering her gun because she doesn’t want to chance hitting Sam. She unsheathes her machete and gets a good two-handed grip on the handle and moves forward as she swings upwards at the Goatman’s neck. Sam also has his machete out, but with the monster moving so quickly, he doesn’t have time to swing it. As the Goatman’s hand closes around Sam’s throat, he stabs.


	12. Chapter 12

Sam is so glum on the way back to the house that Ronnie finally has to ask him why. “We got the Goatman, Sam. We cleaned up and got out of there, reported the site, so parents whose kids’ bones are there can have closure. Neither of us even needs a doctor. That makes this a win in my book. What’s wrong?”

Sam’s voice comes out hoarse. He sounds like he was almost choked to death because by the time they had finished killing the Goatman, they had to pry its dirty fingers from around Sam’s neck. “Dean’s gonna know…” He rasps out, trying to keep his words to a minimum. “…didn’t follow plan.”

“Huh. Well, if you care so much about his opinion, why didn’t we follow his plan?”

Sam’s face pinches into a familiar expression. “That’s not the point.” His brow furrows. “How ‘bout you let me explain to Dean?” As he finishes grunting out the words, Sam starts buttoning his shirt collar. She reaches across him into the glove box and pulls out a tartan scarf, handing it to him, and he wraps it around the bruises on his neck awkwardly.

Ronnie looks him in the eye. “Sam, you can tell him whatever you want, but if he asks me, I’m gonna tell him the truth. I don’t understand this weird dynamic you two do. From what you said before, Dean is your only family. You just spent a year thinking he was dead. You get a miracle - your brother back alive – and all you think about is what you gave up? I wish I still had a family.”

Sam stares at her a minute and says dryly. “Not like mine. No, you really don’t.”

The hunt is over, and Ronnie’s relieved, and she has come to like and respect her two house guests – as long as they aren’t in the same room. When they’re together she mostly feels like a referee, and she wants to hand Mary Grace the wooden spoon and watch her smack them both with it. She sighs to herself, vowing to try to get through to them one more time. Maybe at dinner.

Sam’s glad Ronnie went quiet because he wants to think. He hasn’t really fully processed Dean’s return because things have gone so differently than he would have imagined – if he had imagined Dean was going to return. Oh, they hugged – after Dean doused him with holy water and Borax, and cut him with a silver knife, but Dean never relaxed into the hug. It was like holding a live electrical wire with current vibrating through it. And Dean could hardly stand to be touched. Plus Sam can tell Dean hasn’t told him everything about Purgatory, just like his return from hell; and even Sam’s most gentle approaches to the subject are deflected.

Then there’s the fact that Sam knows Dean felt abandoned by him – like he felt when Sam left for college, when he left because of their argument, and when he didn’t trust himself after the demon blood addiction – like Dad abandoned him so many times. But that’s a problem he knows Dean will deny and get mad about if he brings it up. Abandonment is Dean’s biggest issue, made even worse when he had to leave Lisa and Ben. There’s not much Sam can do to help him with it. Besides, Sam thinks, I may leave again; I can’t promise him I’ll stay.

As Ronnie pulls the truck next to the Impala in the backyard, Sam really wishes that he and Dean could just pack up and go. He’s finished with this monster, and tired of having his relationship with his brother under a microscope. With a long recovery ahead of him, Sam yearns from the depths of his being that they had someplace of their own, someplace to call home – an anchor from life’s buffering like he had tried to establish with Amelia.

Is that really too much to want?

Sam heads into the kitchen of the house expecting to see Dean sitting there waiting impatiently. Dean isn’t. Sam passes through the living room to look in Dean’s bedroom, where – in a not very likely scenario his brother may be lying down as he’s supposed to be – unsurprisingly, Dean isn’t there either. He has, however, managed to get help having the original bed returned to the guest room instead of the hospital bed. Sam wonders what else his brother has been planning.

Moving back to the living area, Sam hears voices coming from the office. Dean is talking to Ronnie, Mary Grace, and Doctor Witte. Sam walks into the office slowly, processing the gist of the conversation as he moves. Dean seems to be getting instructions on how to take care of his injuries during the rest of his recovery.

“You are healing really well, but that doesn’t mean you should overdo it. The walking cast and crutches should be used sparingly. And keep that cast on at least four more weeks. Besides your leg, your ribs are only partially healed – but there shouldn’t be any problems with them shifting. When you get wherever you’re going, you need to check a doctor about the head injury. That’s nothing to mess around with.” Doctor Witte is trying to make emphatic points to Dean, who has already insisted the doctor take the cast off his ribs. “Stubborn’s good for rehabilitation, but you need recovery time first.”

Sam props himself on the doorframe, realizing his brother has seen the doctor and done his best to be ready to hit the road again. Sam smiles to himself – at least they’re both thinking along the same terms there. He clears his throat. “So, I’m guessing Dean’s cleared to travel?” Sam’s voice is rough, and Dean turns a laser glance on him, noting the scarf immediately and figuring out what it means.

“Hey, Doc, could you check my little brother’s neck? Looks like he got too close to the Goatman for his own good.” Dean is up on his crutches and moving toward Sam even as he’s speaking. “What happened, Sam?”

Mary Grace manages to push Sam into a chair, making him about her height. She starts to unwrap his neck, pushing his hands away when he tries to intervene and muttering about short-eared mules and being calf-eyed. Dean leans against the wall watching with a smirk on his face, enjoying watching his brother’s turn to squirm under the nurse’s ministrations, but before long his half-smile vanishes and his eyes narrow.

“How did that happen, Sam? Did the plan not work?”

Doctor Witte steps between them. “How about you let me check him over before the interrogation begins? Just to make sure his throat is up to answering questions. And while I’m at it – you sit down. It’s too soon for standing up for no good reason.”

While to doctor examines Sam, he and Dean have one of those conversations they haven’t had many of since Dean’s recent return from Purgatory. They are both tired of being in Waco, finished with the Goatman, and wanting personal space to heal at their own pace. They both want to leave – to climb into the Impala and let the only real home they have carry them away. Sam manages to indicate that the only way they are doing that is if he drives, too. Dean finally drops his eyes in acceptance of Sam’s caveat, and Sam knows Dean will wait before bringing up Sam’s decision to abandon the plan.

Sometimes even complicated concepts can be almost telepathically communicated through their bond.

The brothers listen quietly to the doctor pronounce Sam only superficially damaged, suggesting ice packs and cold drinks for the mild swelling. And while the bystanders might be surprised, neither brother is when Sam says he’s going to go get their duffels and will meet Dean at the car. “There’s still hours we can drive before bed,” Sam tells them. “And we’ve got places to go.”

Leaving with thanks all around, the brothers are relieved when they are enclosed in the big, black car. Getting the Goatman – even with injuries – reminds them that they are both hunters, and are most at ease when they are working together. They also know they are more comfortable together than with acquaintances.  Dean puts on headphones and cranks up his music, knowing that Sam, the driver, gets to pick the radio station. By the time Sam pulls onto Interstate 35 heading north, Dean has dozed off – Sam glances over and smiles. This is familiar and easy, but he knows they have 1,800 miles to go before reaching White Fish and Rufus’s cabin. Somehow he knows Dean won’t give up driving at all the whole way without a fight. That feels familiar too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me as I explored the problems between Dean and Sam at the beginning of Season 8.


End file.
